The Unknown Story
by Charlotte13245
Summary: This is a story about a girl who woke up one morning without knowing who she was or where the pain that had sliced through her body had come from. Was it all in her head? Was it real? An adventure, just waiting to begin. *** Author Note: I woke up at 1am with a story, so I wrote it! Tell me what you think, contains OC's
1. Preface

**Disclaimer: All 'The Infernal Devices' Characters belong to Cassandra Clare throughout this story.**

Preface:

Dizziness and blackness was the first things she recognised. Then, an aching in the back of her head along with the ringing of her ears. It felt like this was lasted for hours, days, months or even years. Then a voice appeared, a frantic voice.

She opened her eyes, and saw a scarred woman, before blackness took her once more.


	2. Chapter 1

When she awoke, she let out a breath of relief – whatever had been bogging down her mind had been a dream, albeit a nightmare that had succumbed her. Now, she was back in her own room, overcome by familiarity.

She sat up, and ran a pale thin hand through her hair as she pulled back the duvet and began to leave the bed.

Suddenly, the bed she had known for years was beginning to spin. Having not fully left the bed, she gripped the bedpost tightly. The bed grew, the curtains changed colour, the room became larger, the carpet vanished and it was as if the world around her was changing. When the spinning stopped and she opened her eyes – she hadn't realised they were squeezed shut. She let out a squeak of surprise. Was this still a dream? Or had someone drugged her? She wasn't sure, and could not place where her last memory was. Slowly climbing out of the bed, she reached for a thin black object by the fire with a sharp end – a fire poker, she recognised, though she wasn't sure how as she had never actually seen one before. It was then when she noticed her clothes. They were certainly something she had never owned. She turned around, and faced the mirror.

Now, wrapped around her body was an emerald green gown – or at least that was how she would describe it. Her brown hair lay at curls around her shoulders – she had always straightened with hair appliances in the past having loathed her curls – and her blue eyes shone out like a beacon across the horizon. This wasn't a person she recognised, or at least, it wasn't a version of herself that she was familiar with.

Keeping a tight grip on the poker, she opened the door – surprised when she found it unlocked – and stepped outside. The corridors were long and daunting, the carpet was soft underneath her bare feet. She slowly crept down the corridor; trying her best to not make a sound.

She tensed, there was movement to be heard as a set large brass doors opened a few feet away from her. Her breath hitched, was this person her kidnapper? The stranger turned, and the scarred imaged flashed across her mind of familiarity – but familiarity from where? Who was this person she strangely recognised? There was no time to think, as the flight or fight motion flitted through her body. She lifted the poker and swung it with all of her might at the stranger.

The next sound to be heard was a scream and then a scuffle of feet.

She wasn't sure what happened next. Hands grabbed her body, the weapon fell out of her grip and she felt the sharp edge of a strange glass object press against her neck. Blackness fell around her once more.

* * *

This time, when she woke, she was not alone. Though the room had barely changed from the last time, the only notable immediate difference was that of a woman sat in a chair beside the bed. She was small with brown hair – there was nothing much else to describe about her.

The woman spoke.

"Who are you?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat, "Shouldn't I be asking you?" Her voice came out like a squeak, and she inwardly cursed at herself for not sounding strong and brave.

"You attacked our maid." The woman spoke once more "My name is Charlotte Branwell, I run this institute."

"Institute? As in…a mental asylum?" Had she gone insane? Was that why all of this felt unreal to her – trapped inside of her own mind forever?

The woman frowned, as if it wasn't an obvious assumption. "An institute for Nephilim – Shadowhunters." She clarified, "How did you get here?"

"You took me, didn't you?" How else would she have gotten there?

"No, no one took you and brought you here. Sophie, our maid, found you unconscious yesterday morning. We brought you to a room, in case you were a Shadowhunter who had been injured or collapsed from exhaustion. Brother Enoch examined you, but explained that your mind had a block and he had no clue who you were. Then, you hit Sophie with a fire poker during dinner time. Will – an occupant here – knocked you unconscious before we managed to bring you back to this room.

There has been someone sat with you ever since, waiting for you to wake up." The woman's eyes met hers, they were a strange sort of brown – a mixture between chocolate and mud - that she struggled to describe. "Now, what is your name?"

"My name?" She repeated, "I don't know, I can't – I can't think."

The woman – Charlotte – frowned, "Do you know how you got here?"

She shook her head, wincing slightly at the ringing in her ears.

"Get dressed and join us for dinner. Perhaps someone there will recognise you." Charlotte rose from her chair. "Sophie will assist you, but if you hit her again I _will_ throw you out onto those streets." The woman nodded to Sophie – who had been hidden away in the doorway – to help the girl get ready.

* * *

There was silence then, until she arrived into the dining room. She took a seat beside a dark haired man and Charlotte who was sat at the head of the table.

It was as if everything suddenly came into focus, the fog in her mind momentarily vanished as the doors opened and another girl walked in. She was very tall and had brown hair with grey eyes. She sat down, and opened her mouth to introduce herself.

The breath got caught in her throat "You're Theresa Grey." She wasn't sure how she knew this, how could she possibly know this at all when she couldn't recall her own name?

The eyes that looked at her then, appeared to burn a hole into her soul.

"How could you possibly know that?" It was a man that spoke, the voice arriving directly beside her.

She flinched, as she moved her head to look at the accuser. "And you're William Herondale. All Dark hair and blue eyes." She frowned, how could she possibly know that either?

"Have you recalled your name?" Charlotte's voice was soft, with a hint of wariness.

The girl frowned "I don't know." She replied "I lie, I do." She shook her head "Katherine. My name is Katherine." Was it? It was a nice name, that much was true, but was it really her own?

"And how do you know who we are, Miss Katherine?" This time it was another man's voice, though this one sounded – and appeared – nothing like the other. He was a mixture of grey and silver, as if those two colours possessed him.

"I'm not sure," Everything she said appeared to be full of unsureness and wary. "Something is telling me who you are, as if I know you from a story or a b-" The word got lost as they trapped in her throat and a choking sensation flooded her.

A shooting pain, like one she had never felt before – worse than the dizziness, the fogginess and the ever-creeping fear – shot through her, cutting threw her soul like a knife killing its prey. She screamed and doubled over in pain. Her hands gripped the table; her knuckles turned white. This was a pain like no other, ripping through her skin tearing it seam by seam.

"Help me." The voice was a strain, a difficulty to produce sound at all. Why was this happening to her? Why was it agony?

"A dream wouldn't hurt like this." Katherine hadn't realised that she had been hoping this was all a dream or even a nightmare. But now she knew for sure, no dream would make her feel as if her appendix was rupturing.

Something touched her skin, a hand on her shoulder and then a burning on her wrist.

Katherine flinched "Don't touch me."

"I'm only giving you an iratze." It was the second man's whose voice she heard again.

 _Iratze?_ How did she know what that meant? Her eyes went to her arms, where the stinging from the touch had begun. They were covered in swirling black marks that she didn't recognise.

They had not been there the other two times she had awoken.

As she began to piece the pieces together, the pain became more sharpened and focused on one area of her body; her heart.

She succumbed to blackness once more.


End file.
